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nuthin yetmore family, rendered in pencil or
charcoal or in jolly watercolors, the family
members almost always with their hands linked like
paperdollsthen a storm, the water in the
swimming pool lashed into waves, the fronds of a
palm pulled into ragged banners by the windThere were well over a hundred pictures in allShe might only have been a child, but she had also
been unbottlingTwo or three more storm
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Eastlake's treasure-trove, maybe just a big
thunderstorm, it was impossible to say for surethe Gulf again, this time with
flying fish the size of dolphinsthe Gulf with
pelicans that appeared to have rainbows in their
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simplicity was what gave it its powerCertainly
I'd thought so when I drew the same thing on my
first night in Big PinkHere was the same cable,
stretched taut between the bow and what might in
Elizabeth's time have been called a Marconi tower,
creating a brilliant orange triangleHere was the
same upward shading of light, orange to blueThere was even the same scribbly, not-quitecareless
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skinnier than mine had been - look like a phantom
out there, trudging its way north"I drew this," I said faintly"I know," Wireman said
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I thumbed deeper, hurrying through big bunches of
watercolors and colored pencil drawings, knowing
what I would eventually findAnd yes, near the
bottom I came to Elizabeth's first picture of the
PerseOnly she had drawn it new, a slim threemasted
beauty with sails furled, standing in on
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trademark Elizabeth Eastlake sun, the kind that
shoots off long happy-rays of lightIt was a
wonderful piece of work, almost begging for a
calypso sound-trackBut unlike her other paintings, it also felt false"Keep going, muchachofamily, four of them,
anyway, standing on the beach with their hands
linked like paperdolls and those big Elizabeth
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